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yourlocalsmutwriter · 19 days ago

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notarialno zavereni angst, danny ric or whoever u want

American law - Daniel Ricciardo x reader

You didn't know what was worse - getting your marriage annulled only a year after or the flight there. In your entire life you had only been to Vegas once. And now you have to do it all over again. Your divorce could have been an email, you think as you board the Amsterdam to LAX airplane. At least Daniel was already in America, you think bitterly. Of course he didn't care enough to stay with you, putting as much distance as possible between you. The little voice in your head tells you that he would definitely make a paddock cameo. Or a surprise appearance at the Enchanté popup. A man of the people, new and improved. Showing everyone that after the official end of your marriage, he was free. He could try all the girls now or drive a 100 cars. Even if lately you'd seen snapshots of him on two wheels.

Truth be told, he looked like he was doing better. Yet you knew him best. He was packing his schedule with events, sponsorships, and new merch drops for a reason. If he was on the move constantly, he didn't have time to think about your breakup. Meanwhile, you had been drowning your sorrows in D3 wine bottles. The last time you tasted that was on your faithful wedding night. Vegas GP 2023, you would always be famous. Since the queue for passport control was longer than the text chain between you and your now ex, you could reminisce about better times. Times where the world consisted of just you and Daniel.

There was nothing more dangerous than a charming man with lots of class. Unfortunately your beloved couldn't really exude that now. Daniel was wearing a sparkly jacket over his race suit.

"Snazzy, isn't it. Think we can get your glitter and some glue sticks and make you a matching one? New Enchanté drop?" Daniel jokes, motioning to the sparkly eye makeup he saw you in. He loved how excited about this you were, despite this being your upteenth GP. You'd been his grid good luck charm, ever since you started dating in 2018. Usually you'd be in for one or two European races, but there was no way you would miss the last few races, especially considering that you skipped out on attending a chunk of this season. You ignore the horrible memories from the Dutch hospital where they tried to give your boyfriend an aspirin for his broken arm.

"If you touch my primer tonight, you are not leaving Vegas in one piece." You joke and plant a kiss on his lips. "Your quali's about to start, lemme take this." You shrug on the eyesore jacket. The black and bold RICCIARDO letters pop against the blue sequins. Danny chuckles. He thinks how good his last name sounds with your first one. He got the idea way back when he was filming the grill the grid videos. When the admin asked who was most likely to get married in the little chapel in Vegas, he threw Charles under the bus. But the truth was, it was himself. Daniel had the ring ready, planning to take you on a late night track walk and propose there. Maybe it was the smell of weed in the air. Maybe it was the plethora of cheesy Vegas movies you two had binged the night before. But one thing was apparent. Daniel Ricciardo was getting married in Sin City.

He presses you into a bone crushing hug before dashing to his car. Despite there being a garage of people who also rooted for him. Despite the roar of the crowds, both here and at home. You're the one that cheers on the loudest. The most loyal supporter. Truly, you loved him the most.

You were snapped back from the thoughts by a government official asking for your passport and boarding pass. They take in the number 3 driver cap you had to pull to the side. Your last name intrigues them, too.

"Huh, what a coincidence that you're a Daniel fan and you have the same last name." They note. Clearly they were not versed in the gossip that came hand in hand with their sport. That was better, you thought. You weren't ready to be excluded from the WAG list.

"Yeah, funny. I'm actually going to the race, so maybe it'll get a few chuckles in the fan zone." You reply. In your mind you rotate the idea of having to change all your documents now. After this weekend you wouldn't be a Ricciardo anymore. Plain old you. That's why you hadn't bought a return ticket yet. It would feel almost fake to travel under Daniel's name.

With some time to spare, you grab a few packs of stroopwaffels and water for the flight. Your eyes scan the shelves and notice you grabbed your ex's favorite brand by force of habit. Nothing said "Fuck you for leaving me after we tied the knot" like a syrup baked good. What was an appropriate thing to even say? You debated asking your friends. They'd probably give you some jab about how you're the one keeping your dignity, even though he had been the one turning bitter near the end. Even though you'd laugh at their "give him money for a Moët, since he wasn't getting champagne podiums" line, you wouldn't believe it. Nothing could help you. Nothing could change the fact that this trip was going to hurt.

This first Vegas weekend was hurting. The Alpha Tauri wasn't a rocket ship. It was a submarine, sinking. Danny had somehow finessed a mini stroll for the two of you after he qualified in P14. He was blowing off media duties, ignoring the pen of journalists that wanted to know his thoughts. He had only 4 words in his brain. "Will you marry me?" looped around his head. The ring was now loose in his gloves, the fireproof pocket being too obvious. He took your hand and spun you around on the Vegas street. The sphere was changing. He was convincing you that there was something great on it coming soon, making you not take your eyes off it as he turned his back to you and retied his shoes.

He asks you to turn around and help him up cause he's got a cramp. You're mid bad joke about how he's blowing your back out so good and the car is blowing his when your mind registers what's happening. Daniel is on one knee, a shining ring in his hand.

" I want the only VIP on my table to be the view of you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Better than any win. You've been with me through the highs and lows of my career. I want you to be there when I retire in like 10 years and then forever. Will you make me the luckiest person in this city by marrying me?" He asks. You say yes, through tears in your eyes.

"Good, because the pavement was killing my knees. This thing gets hot." He jokes as he slides the ring on your finger. He kisses you and you swear it's like the first one. You slide your hand in his as he tells you about the ring, the engravings inside.

"You know, I never told you this, but I always wanted to get married in Vegas. Other girls probably wanted a grand ceremony filled with family and friends. My practical ass wanted in and out." You say, admiring the golden band.

"I mean, the chapel is open 24 hours. Elvis impersonator and all. It would be refreshing for them to get someone sober. Should we do it?" Daniel asks.

"You're crazy. You have a race tomorrow. People will tear you to shreds for focusing on me instead." You reason. Daniel's life was neatly sliced in two. Driving and not driving. And the biting comments from fans and Helmut were nothing new. Danny had a bad weekend? Your fault. You were a distraction. Which didn't make any sense. Max was world champion and he had Kelly. What people didn't see was that you loved your boyfriend so madly. Keeping each other sane through the online scrutiny. Covering for each other in front of paparazzi. Even things like keeping a balanced diet. Perhaps you were the best thing that happened to Daniel. But for you, it was beyond the shadow of a doubt. You wondered how you had survived your life before him. At least now he was yours forever.

"Come on. You're my lucky charm. If anything, you make me a better driver. I'm faster when I think that afterwards I'm coming home to you. So, let's make the gossip pages go wild." He says, not ready for the night to end. You give in, only interjecting with a

"Fine, fine but we cannot even have a lick of....."

"Champagne, please." You ask the stewardess.

"I'm sorry, but we don't serve alcohol yet, it's an early flight. I can get you sparkling water if you'd like." She offers, the picture of professionalism.

"That would be great, thank you." You say.

A hangover was not a good idea. Apparently you were the only sensible one. You paid for the in flight wifi solely to be able to communicate with Daniel. He was picking you up from the airport, so you wanted to update him. But the reply you got from him was unusual. The Instagram voice memos he gave you sounded something like this: “I'm drunk and I've been staring at my hands for an hour. I wanna remember what it was like to have you in them.”. His voice is slurred. He's reckless. So are you.

“Enjoying the night I see. Did you find a girl who's gonna erase me? Did you find a love that's gonna kill mine?”. He replies instantly with a “I found her, it's the one asking me stupid questions.”. Daniel means you, and he doubles down. “You're not mine anymore, but I don't want anyone touching you.” you cringe at his jealous streak. Maybe it was the first warning sign you missed. You know you should stop reminiscing about your wedding day. Yet……

You two are the smiliest couple in line to get married. Truly, someone could count Danny's teeth to pass the time. There's a wonderful old lady that's telling her entire life story to you two. She's here with her husband to be, who was her childhood sweetheart. But throughout her life, they were both dating other people, too hesitant to admit each other's feelings until now. She asks you if Daniel has always been this wonderful.

"He was born almost perfect. Though I think he needed me to complete him, to make him even greater." Your fiancee plants a kiss on your lips, effectively half-traumatising the older woman and smudging your lipstick.

You excuse yourself to reapply it, not about to get married with pink streaks on your face. As you exit the bathroom, there's a very drunk Elvis impersonator outside.

"Hey, baby. Wanna become my Priscilla?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You decline politely and try to get back to the guy who you were about to marry. The fake king of rock and roll doesn't agree with your decision and continues to chat you up. You're practically sweating through the rental bride dress when your eyes meet a familiar pair of brown ones. Danny moves faster than the speed of light, fist raised in the air. Before he can punch the guy you step in, not wanting to have him spend his race in jail.

The faux Elvis backs off and the old lady lets you two cut in line. As a couple exits the chapel, it's your turn. You're about to marry the love of your life in Vegas. All your dreams were coming true. You ask Danny to pinch you and he jokes that he should say Max’s name instead.

The whole flight you're antsy. It was heartbreaking. To have counted on Daniel for so long to this. It was a long time coming. The nails in the coffin were getting drilled since the start of the season back in March. Spain was the first big fight. It was the fact that your husband's life was in a pressure cooker. The online hate. His crash with Stroll. The fact that Yuki's contract was extended already. His career hadn't been much of a roadblock even when it was uncertain before. The McLaren exit was actually almost a turning point towards considering to settle down.

You couldn't afford to think the time line after, not right now. Your hands were shaking as you type "I hope you're here, just landed." to Daniel. Then you shove the phone so deep in your bag, not wanting to look at it.

His messy curls are unmissable. Despite trying to lay low, he is there, like an eyesore. Decked out in yesterday's clothes, judging from Instagram. Holding an A4 piece of cardboard. Of course, it doesn't say your name or Ricciardo. It just says Unforgettable. Pictures of Danny in the Vegas airport would become a rumor mill and meme in a matter of minutes. It doesn't help that as soon as he sees you, he starts crying, his eyes filled with tears. Were they for you, for himself, for both of you. You would never know. Instead of a hello, or a miss you, you say.

“I can’t wrap my head around why you’re doing this right now.”

"I can't believe you're crying." You whisper to Daniel. His misty eyes are also making you tear up. The "priest" marrying you doesn't care about this, doesn't even shush you. Since this was not planned, there's no time to have personalized vows. Still, in the way your husband's voice breaks slightly at the "to love and to keep" says it all. Rings exchanged, a kiss shared and it's official. You are married to Daniel Ricciardo.

It's so past his "bedtime" (the regime set by his personal trainer) by the time you get to the hotel, that you actually consider just falling asleep. Of course, he has other plans. Danny's lips are on your neck since the elevator. As you pat down your pockets for the hotel key, his hands are all over your chest, squeezing and groping.

"Baby, please." You moan out.

"It's our first night together as a married couple. We can't just postpone it because we're busy tomorrow. I plan to make you thank yourself for saying yes to me." He argues, his touches trying to find any bare skin.

"Danny, come on. You know how lucky I am to have you. And you're also aware that you're insatiable." You say, leaning into his touch. You're trying to reason with him, but you can't help but trail your fingers from his defined abs down to his happy trail. He groans and you're a goner. It's safe to say that you end up "consumating" your marriage in the Vegas hotel. Some would call it poor decision making. You can't help but be a sucker for your husband talking about love and then making it to you. The creak of your bed and the banging of the headboard at least rattles the poor driver on the other side of the wall. So, a bonus for Alpha Tauri, you reason with yourself.

You had nearly forgotten what it was to have Daniel touching you. But as he's leading you out of the airport, he holds your hand. Your fingers are laced together, like lovers. There's an intrusive thought in your head.

"Drop it, stop this, you can't afford him to do that to you, why, Jesus fuck, you still felt it". The spark. The need to pull him aside and kiss him. The want to see that look in his brown eyes just before he leans in, like a needy puppy. Daniel is intent on killing you, because he draws little figures with his thumb on your skin.

"So, do we have a plan?" You ask, as if you hadn't had to figure out the logistics of this for weeks now.

"We'll go there during quali. At least this way all the fans will be occupied, either at home or in the grandstands." He says. "That way you can still enjoy a day of the weekend in Vegas."

"I don't know about you, but I don't think I'll be thinking about gambling or entertainment after the official end of my marriage." You reply. You're not sure if he shivers because of the cold or your words.

"You're right, I'm sorry." He apologizes. He drops your hand to wave to the Uber he hailed. Then he reaches out again, this time going for your left. Your ring is pressed against his. Possibly for the last time. You think that you should have simply given yours back that day.

If you opened the dictionary to the words “media circus” you'd find the Singapore 2024 Grand Prix as the definition. And at the center of it are you and Daniel. You're not sure why the press picks up on your increased presence in the paddock recently. Since Spain, you haven't missed a race. You and your husband may be on thin ice sometimes, but it would shatter like glass under your feet if you aren't communicating and being there for eachother. Supporting Danny reminds you why you love him. He's driven. Relentless. Never backs down from a challenge. Yet, now it's extreme. He works himself to the bone. On the simulator, or in long talks with his engineer Pierre. There is no rest for the wicked or the treathened. You're on the sidelines, picking out restaurants that are open at least til midnight. Making sure he eats, that he still can enjoy at least something. You're no influencer, but you use your social media to bring attention to his sponsored campaigns, to the new Enchanté collections. Anything to keep the image of Danny positive.

It's not like people don't ask you about it. Friends, family, coworkers are all curious what it feels like. Your reply? Even if it's tough on me, it's a million times tougher on him. So when you see the interview, you're flabbergasted.

The fans tag you in it. Not that you need that, seeing as you've been glued to the F1 website and social media. Danny is on media day duty, Thursday in Singapore. One of the reporters asks.

"Daniel , your lovely wife is joining you once again this weekend. Do you think that will affect your performance?"

"When it comes to how I drive, that's all me and the team. I'm not a superstitious guy, I don't believe in good luck. Racing is about strategy and talent."

The next journalist latches on, wanting to get a quote too. It spirals because your husband does not and cannot address his early exit rumors. So he talks about you. But his words aren't his, don't come from the heart. They are what Visa CashApp RB wants to hear. How he manages his time or more accurately how he doesn't spend it with you. He doesn't tell anyone that he asked for this. After spending a couple days apart, he wanted you to be by his side. As you'd been before. All good, always. Daniel even tries to crack a joke.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think that she's using me as a travel buddy or a way to check off some destinations off her holiday bucket list.". It gets scattered laughter, most because many times before he's shared that you weren't interested in flying out with him that much. That it stresses you out, the airport a hostile environment rather than a relaxing one.

After the press conference he's pulled aside, you presume for socials. You reason that he's busy and that's why he's not responding to your texts. His team's Instagram shows him energetic, and dancing to 28 by Zach Brian. Your song. Maybe the chorus of how lucky are we resonated with him, but not you.

"You can't just pretend it's all okay. After what you did. I'm not the villain, okay. I'm not the one taking your seat away from you." You say, the moment he comes back in your hotel room.

"You think they're gonna fire me, now? What happened to having my back. Do you think I'm like Logan, huh." He says back.

"You throw me under the bus, you throw another driver, anyone else? Wanna drag the lizard during practice, too, while you're at it? We're not the bad guys here, Daniel. Go ahead, blame me for being unhappy, and blame me for having bad luck. Just remember that when you fall from the top, it hurts like hell.” you reply.

He thinks he will show everyone who doubted him on Saturday. Have a great qualifying, cement his place in the team. Danny wishes that he didn't have to prove himself to you, too. But he does. So all the angst is worth it. As a “I put us through hell, but look where it got us, we'll fix it now.” He's out in Q1. It was over. He was the biggest loser, forced to see others succeed.

After watching Max win in Abu Dhabi, you were tagging along to the belated celebrations. 3 consecutive championships was a big deal. So you had a few too many glasses of champagne with Danny's friend and former teammate. That resulted in your husband having to support you out, and tuck you in with a bucket next to you.

When the morning comes, there's a bottle of water and ibuprofen on the bedside table next to you. But no Daniel. You make your way to the kitchen in the spacious penthouse room. There was your beloved, making breakfast. An omelet with extra cheese signaled the start of summer break. But what surprised you was the abundance of bouquets, flowers covering multiple pieces of furniture.

"Did I blackout before you lost a bet or something? Why is there a botanical garden in our hotel room." You ask, admiring your favorite ones.

"Wanted to give you something pretty to wake up. Besides the obvious. Also, you got so drunk last night that you started singing this song about getting flowers." He explains.

You cringe as you recall shouting the lyrics, "Buying me all the flowers, swearing on yourself that you count on me," along with a few others.

"You let me get "belting out breakup songs" drunk?" you ask.

"Hey, who knows how many tipsy nights you'll have left in you?" He replies.

"Is this a jab about me aging, how dare you? You're older than me, you prick. Wait. Oh? Is this about?" You go on, then the realization hits you. Daniel's actually talking about

"A baby, yes. You are bad at picking up on hints. Do you think we should try for kids? I know we've had the conversation before, but are you still sure?" He asks. In truth, he hopes you'd still say yes like before. Screw being World Champion, all he wanted now was to be a father.

"I've never been more sure. I know I can count on you and you can count on me. Though let's wait a bit, I don't want to be giving birth in the middle of the Dutch GP or something." You add, shuddering at the thought of being pregnant in the paddock.

"Baby Zandvoort Stroopwaffel Ricciardo wouldn't stand a chance in the world." Danny jokes before pulling you in a kiss.

“I don't know, I think they're going places.” You say after pulling away.

As Daniel helps the driver with the direction, you quip

"Glad that you've had time to roam around Nevada while I was at home packing up my things from what was our apartment. In Monaco, surrounded by our friends' pitiful looks."

"My friends. They're my friends. Besides, one of us had to stay here for six weeks. Otherwise they wouldn't let us get divorced." he says.

"Oh, there was no graph on the fucking forms for custody of racing drivers. And maybe someone should have looked more closely at the law before complaining. You were so reckless and cheesy for proposing in Vegas. And now we have to deal with this." You argue.

"Well I wasn't the one who wanted to break it off. That was all you, sweetheart." He fights back. You're about to make a jab at him for not using that competitiveness on the track.

The man in the driver's seat just sighs and points to a decal above the mirror. It says "no conflicts, please." You can't help it. You want your ex to scream, swear, so you know he's hurting.

But you try to be the bigger person. You and Danny had always been explosive. Before, it was passion. Stolen kisses on busy streets. Hands dangerously close to intimate places on Australian beaches (accompanied by down under jokes that never got old). Hotel room pillows under headboards. It was a miracle that you actually didn't have to file for custody. You guess it didn't take. The universe knew. And despite all the happy, messy, angry raw sex you had, the tests always came back negative. You chuckle at the sweets still in your carry-on, remembering that talk about naming your child after Zandvoort. You extend a pack to Daniel, a peace offering. Stroopwaffels were truly the answer to everything.

"I can't believe you remember to bring me these. I thought you hated me." He says, when he's not sinking his teeth into the syrup filled snack.

"Despite popular belief, I don't live to see your downfall." You reply. We both already saw it is what you think. And when you hear your "other half" say it back to you, you almost believe in soulmates again.

Daniel and you make a few stops. First you two look over the divorce forms with his lawyer. Then you make sure they are notary certified. And lastly, you head back to the courthouse. Nevada is colder than you remember. You shiver as he wraps an arm around you. That's how you walk in to the building. Lovers, soulmates, best friends. Anything but strangers. This time Daniel's the one that breaks when he sees you crying. His thumbs are gentle, wiping the tears from your cheeks with such love that you're almost ready to take it all back. To say "sike", to tear the forms in stripes and use them as confetti you kiss under. To momentarily forget and keep doing that until you forgive him. Instead you go through with it. Right outside when you're officially legally single, you can speak.

"I get why you had to get wasted yesterday. This hurts." you say.

"Wanna go out drinking together. You know, one last time? As a warranty I won't dial your number after the last call like I did back then." Daniel suggests.

"Lead the way, Vegas boy." you reply.

You were lost, figuratively and literally. Singapore was not a good place to wander off in. The 3 cap on your face is pulled down to your eyes. In the end you decide to go back for the race. To give Danny a chance. He's too emotional to talk to you in depth. He kisses you, and your hands grip his denim like shirt. Good luck is all you manage to say. The stars in the Singapore night are what you stare at for the majority of the race. Even with the fastest lap, you can sense it's not enough.

Your heart breaks when Daniel doesn't get out of the car immediately. You wish you could rush over to him, talk. Then you see his face and know. He's grieving. For his legacy, his future. There's no send off. You stay with him until late, until it's just you two and the photographer on the track. You can't do this right now. It's after your flight back that you ask. You deal the final blow to Daniel's life. You ask him for a divorce.

He posts on Instagram before he replies to you. You like the picture, and you pour out your feelings in the comments. You tell him you'll always be proud of him and his achievements. You tell him that you love him. You can't bear to say anything about the future. Because his future is no longer your concern.

He calls you in the middle of the night. He's tired of everyone, drunk, super sad and tells you

"I miss you." as if you don't know. It brings you no joy to hear this. You just ask him to pass the phone to someone else in the bar and you get his location.

"You know, for someone who makes wine, you are a light weight." you comment as you help him back into your shared apartment. You don't wonder where he's staying and whether he likes it. You're lying. Even as you try to settle on the couch, you can't relax. You go to your bed and watch Daniel snore softly. You carefully get in next to him. Sensing the dip in the mattress, he immediately pulls you into his arms.

"Did we fight? I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I didn't mean it. Don't go on the couch, please." He whispers, voice groggy from sleep. He had gotten so wasted he completely forgot he was in the process of divorcing you.

"I'm right here, Daniel. I'm not going anywhere." you say as you turn towards him. You relax into his chest. For the first time in 168 hours you get a decent sleep.

The next day, he just packs some leftover clothes into a suitcase and leaves for the airport. You see him in America and remember the talks with Christian. The faint mentions of Redbull ambassador duties in the States. Despite everything, he chose the job instead of you. Even retired, he was more loyal to the team, which didn't even give him more than 3 photos and a paragraph on Instagram.

Daniel said he'd reject it. Yet, the moment he was free of you, he took it. You had been the roadblock again, being the thing making his career go wrong. After years of being his talisman, you had turned to a bad omen. Of course it was best for you to leave while you can, sprint towards the exit.

You're in front of a bar entrance.

"Is this a good idea? I know we've both been drinking away the end of our relationship, and marriage. So maybe tonight, let's not." You say, suddenly getting cold feet.

"You're right. Do you wanna see the apartment? Make it seem like you're here for a regular vacation with your husband?" He hesitates on the last word, yet still uses it.

"It would be a shame to not see what Vegas residency has done to your taste." You reply.

"You'll love the slot machine in the kitchen, brings the whole place together." Danny jokes and you laugh and it's almost like the old times. He's missed this.

Bachelor Daniel is different than you'd expect. He cooks you both pasta and has one of those fridges with a water and ice dispenser. After dinner, he shows it to you, and it escalates into a chase, pelting frozen cubes at each other. He catches you easily, damn his F1 reflexes.

The ice from his hand is violent poured at the front of your shirt and you fucking moan. Daniel watches the droplets and realizes you're not wearing a bra. It happens in a flash. You're pinned against the counter, your ex husband grabbing another icecube from his fancy fridge. It melts on his tongue, your tongue as you kiss. Daniel's cold lips make you shiver and beg for more as they move from your neck to your chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." He mumbles, now between your thighs. You tell him that " his whole life isn't going to be enough time for him to apologize to you, but this is a good start.". When his tongue licks a stripe down your pussy, it's literally frozen.

"Baby, it's like Frosty the snowman is eating me out, stop." You say and he pulls away immediately. "I need you still, though. Can you fuck me, please. It's been months." You continue.

He's on his feet, towering over you, lips on your neck.

"I don't have a condom though. Is that okay?" Daniel asks.

"Damn, single for 6 weeks and already banging other people raw. You don't waste time,huh." You recoil, trying to move away from him.

"I haven't been with anyone else. Only you. " He confesses.

You're back in his arms, this time taking the lead. It's a different kiss, slow and gentle.

"Then tonight's your lucky night, lover boy. A hot divorcee in your area needs you." You joke as you lead him to bed. You want to be in control, at least with this. For once, you feel at ease again. You grind against him, slowly teasing you both. You sink down on his cock, and he doesn't miss the hiss you let out as you get used to his size again. You ride him, gradually getting closer to your orgasm. You speed up the pace, asking him to fuck you. As you come, you're begging, needing and pleading him to come for you, to finish inside of you. Who is he to deny you? Besides he doesn't think he can get himself to pull out. He too wants nothing more than to spill his seed inside of you, to fuck you through his orgasm. And he does so.

You're both spent, as he pulls away. His mouth is moving faster than his brain when he says "I love you.".

"Don't be cruel, Daniel. Don't talk to me about love when you don't know it." you respond and leave.

You can't leave your house. Even though you're the one that ended it. You're stuck inside, sad songs and ice cream galore. You know that eventually, it will stop hurting. The endless edits of Daniel to Pink Skies aren't helping. You wonder how he is. You wish he wore the hurt on his sleeve. He looked so happy. With Josh, or at the stupid Red Bull event. It's selfish, but you wish to see how these nights end. It's time for him to cry. Because there's no sign that you'd been his at all.

Daniel somehow managed to lose you twice. You don't come back. You just send a text asking to keep the ring on. He takes it as a sign. But all in him that believed evaporated later that week. You're back with your friends. Danny remembers you had mentioned that you'd be staying with them. You neglected to say anything about what was unfolding in front of his eyes via Instagram. A divorce party. They threw you a fucking rager. He analyzes every second of every video. A stranger that’s there worries him. The guy looks freakishly like him. And he keeps hiding his face, clearly not belonging there. The motherfucker is in a 3 piece suit for fuck’s sake. And keeps orbiting in your personal space.

Then it's almost radio silence. You barely post. There's a picture of you, 2 dinner plates ,glasses of water and a fancy restaurant. A number and a heart is all he gets to know you've moved on. Daniel was never good at math, but it doesn't take a genius to calculate when this happened. The day after your divorce party. Because of your new beau, now you only post the occasional selfie. Then the bomb drops. A video of you and his doppelganger. At a fucking gender reveal. And you're the one expecting. The caption reveals the due date. Daniel wants to be spiteful. He wants to know just how many days after you two last saw each other you were fucking others. He plugs in the day you're about to be due into a sketchy fertility calculation website. It's actually very detailed and indicates that you conceived on the last day of your ovulation. Which just happens to be the last night you saw him.

Daniel was about to have a kid. A tiny human being in whose life he would never be a part of. He can't help but think what would happen if he could turn back time. His heart tells him he'd somehow still manage to turn the situation into this.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo angst #i fear this is my magnum opus #the power of tumblr mutuals on my writing should be studied #my eyes hurt #6k fucking words of Danny #save me 6k Danny angst #mara and her inbox

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